This Is 'Nam
by Retro Soul
Summary: The sound ricocheting, dispersed amongst the hills. The colors staining the skies, threatening to holler their secrets. And all is silent. The palms blow in the breeze of the jungle skies. And I am alone. And she is dead. This is not war. This is not the army. This is 'Nam.
1. Introduction

Gunshot.

Screaming.

Her screaming.

Her agony.

A soldier's success.

An empty rifle.

And my bare head on the wood of the railroad.

The sound ricocheting, dispersed amongst the hills.

The colors staining the skies, threatening to holler their secrets.

And all is silent.

The palms blow in the breeze of the jungle skies.

And I am alone.

And she is dead.

This is not war.

This is not the army.

This is 'Nam.

I jolt awake, startled by my dream, bringing back memories, much too vivid. Much too true. My sweat soaked palms grasp the metal bar on the seat in front of me. And that is when I see her. She sits in front of me, facing me.

God, that face.

Those eyes.

That hair.

With a book collapsed in her lap, her eyes wander from it's pages kissed with printed words. I think she sees me. I want her to see me. The pain in my eyes, I hope she witnesses it's existence.

God, she looks just like her.

Just like her...

My breath begins to falter and as the sounds of the rattling train drown out, the firing of rifles violently replace it. Against my internal pleads, my head rolls back against the train's window. My eye lids close against my commands and I fall back into dream of memories.

I am Private Curtis and this is how I failed to stop the kidnap, torture, and murder of an innocent Vietnamese woman.


	2. Chapter 1

**Thanks for the support and reviews, I hope for this to become a successful fan fiction.**

**Warning: strong language **

Silence. It's a dangerous word, even more dangerous when you're alone. However, when it's hissed into your ear with the ringing that follows, you don't feel so alone. And in the night, when you're surrounded by the darkness and the presence of slumber, it really is up to you whether you take the right actions or not. When your life is before your gawking eyes, grenades evolving into death around you, you begin to question your very existence and reason for being. Remember this now because it will be key later. It would be a lie to say that Sgt. Meserve didn't save my life that night. With half my body in a VC tunnel and the other half exposed to the raining grenades. However, I would pay him back. The price of life is very costly, I will say this and only this about how I repaid the Sergeant.

"We're gettin' too sure for this shit, Meserve." Specialist 4th Class Brown, call signed as Brownie, on account of his name and skin colour, tells the Sergeant.

"We aint sure yet, Brownie." Meserve replies, spitting his tobacco filled saliva to the side.

"Man, we damned the invisible. We're gonna di-di right out of here, man."

"Put me on that freedom bird." Merseve chuckles. More chewing of his tobacco and splutters to the side of the dust road, the liquid curling up in the sand. "Maybe the fucker's gonna crash."

For the first time for the duration of the trip, I see my chance to slip in a word or too.

"Could you imagine that? You escape the 'Nam, but you die in airline fatality." my voice wobbles from exhaustion and lack of hydration. God, I need a shower. Clarke looks to me from the corner of his eyes, not bothering to move his head.

"Never happens, Curtis. You survive the 'Nam, you live forever, man." I chuckle and wipe the sweat from my forehead. The cowlick that used to rest on my brow, a constant reminder of my greased back hair, is no longer there. The pain of departing from it, that's when it all started to animate itself from a simple draft letter to my new reality. A greaser and his hair; there is no stronger bond.

"How long have you been in the country, Curtis?" Brownie calls back to me, lugging his rifle over his broad, dark shoulder. I fumble with my words, trying to get accustomed to being addressed so frequently.

"He's talking to you, James," Clarke mutters, this time gesturing his head towards. I think back to when I'd gotten the letter, only a month ago. How Darry was so surprised, and how Ponyboy had clung to me, pleading that I didn't leave him.

I remember getting my long hair shaven off, the clumps of greasy glory falling to nothing but a small heap at my feet. It wasn't so bad anymore, now that it had grown somewhat with the heat.

I remember the moment I decided to change my name. A swift and panicked decision, I will admit. However, a guy named Sodapop would never survive the 'Nam.

"_Curtis, Sodapop?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Is this some kind of joke, Private?"_

"_What joke, sir?"_

"_Says here that your given name is Sodapop. Is this correct, Private?"_

_Silence lingers and a decision is born._

"_No, sir. My given name is James."_

"Three weeks," I finally answer Sergeant Brown.

"Three weeks? Man, you're breakin' my heart."

Brownie and Meserve continue on with their murmured conversation, I only tune in to chuckle a few times at Brownie's smartass remarks.

"Yeah, the 'Nam's a trip. The first thirty days you don't know shit and the last thirty days, you don't give a shit."

"Fuckin' A," Hatcher comments from behind me in agreement.

After horking one last wad of tobacco filled spit, Sgt. Meserve turns to us and begins to belch out his orders. "Hatcher, Clarke, Curtis; spread out here. Try not to get lost, huh? Me and Brownie will bring in the equipment and meet you wherever you are." He turns to the left, towards the base. "Brownie, let's di-di."

"Curtis! Hey, Curtis!"

"Yes, Sir?"

"What the fuck are you doing, Private? Ploughing God knows what with this dubious motherfucker when you should be bringing water to your fellow soldiers. Am I not right?"

I look down at the ancient looking plough, then to the ancient looking Vietnamese man beside me. I peer up at him, squinting through the sun. "Yeah."

"Then get at it, white boy."

I chuckle and begin to walk from the field, past Brownie. He's the first Negro I've ever seen up close. Or, in fact, in person. The way he talks, the way he looks at things and acts, made me question my society's slander.

Smoke trails up from Brownie's pink lips, obtaining a slight brown pigmentation. Taking countless drags, mesmerizing me. God knows how long its been since I've had a cigarette.

"What the hell where you doing there, man? This place is infested with VC. And what about last night, man? Meserve had to go back for you. I heard you had your ass stuck in one of them VC tunnels like motherfuckin' Winnie The Pooh." Brownie teases, his words flouting on his flamboyant laugh. I return his remark with a laugh of the same nature, however also remember last night.

The darkness.

When I realized I would some day pay back the Sergeant whether it be by my will or his.

"Yeah, man."

"Did you piss yourself?"

I feel myself blushing slightly, damn.

"Jeez, Brownie."

"Well? Tell me."

"I am telling you!"

"Nah, man, you're just saying shit."

"Well?"

"Did you piss yourself, motherfucker?"

"Tell you what, Brownie. If the Serg hadn't come back for me, I sure would have."

Satisfied with his answer, Brownie lets one of his ostentatious laughs ring out again.

"Damn."

As I turn to leave, Brownie calls out to me.

"I've been meanin' to ask you, Curtis. You got any kids, man?"

I shake my head. "No."

"A woman?"

My mind drifts to Sandy as I give a definite shake of the head. "Hell no."

"Well what're you leavin' behind if you get blown to bits out here?"

I check behind me, at the rest of my squadron, somewhat embarrassed if they were to be in earshot of my answer. "I got two brothers at home. The youngest one, Pony, he was just a wreck when I had to go."

"Did you say 'Pony'?" Brownie asks, his coloured face growing slightly puzzled.

"T-Tony," I recover quickly. "His name's Tony."

"Well y'know, Curtis, my-"

Brownie's voice cuts out as the sound of a gunshot replaces it. Falling to the ground, grasping his neck, he lets out a foul curse. The others run to us, but drop to the ground, bullets being fired across the field at the unexpected enemies. On our bellies, we release bullets from our rifles, ready to kill. I look to Brownie and Sgt. Meserve is on top of him, holding his hand tightly to the side of his neck. For the first time, I see a colour on Brownie's skin other than brown

The colour is crimson red.

**VOCABULARY**

**VC - Viet Cong **

**Di-di - to leave or get out **

**Fucking A - "I agree" "Yes" "That's true" ext. **

**Serg - short for sergeant, pronounced "Sarge"**

'**Nam - short for Vietnam **


	3. Chapter 2

**I apologize, its been over a week since I updated, I'm really busy with exams and what not so please bear with me. **

**Warning: mild language **

"Seize fire! Seize fire!"

And the sound of bullets ricocheting across the field fall silent.

There is no sound of a soldier cursing his luck or the enemy. There is no violent out burst or talk amongst us. All eyes are on Brownie.

And soon we are all around him, watching the sergeant hold his hand tightly to his blood stained neck, with a gauze. Clarke is the first to speak.

"I told you this place wasn't safe!" he growls, slamming his hand down.

"They set us up," I mutter quietly realizing what had happened. "The bastards set us up."

The village people had told us this was a safe area. A safe haven for us to stay. We entrusted them with our reliance to their word, they took that reliance and tore it apart. The area had been invested with VC the whole time. It only took a matter of days for them to attack.

Brownie's voice chokes and sputters, as he squirms under Meserve's hold.

"I'm in trouble, aint I, Serg? I'm in trouble Serg," he chokes out, grasping Meserve's arm, a way of containing himself from screaming out in pain.

"It's nothing, Brownie, its nothing," Meserve assures him with confidence, trying to keep Brownie from wriggle underneath him.

But Meserve is lying. I can see it in his face, the way it's clenched. I can read it in his jerky actions, his body desperate to keep up with his mind. However, keeping the truth from a dying man is a risky business. Or maybe Meserve believed himself when he told Brownie all was well. Maybe he truly thought Brownie was going to walk out of 'Nam alive.

Or maybe he was just trying to trick himself so he didn't loose his control.

"It don't feel like nothin', man." Brownie chokes out. I watch as his dark eyes slide in my direction as he opens his mouth to talk.

God, not me, please don't talk to me now, I'm already feeling a rising sob in the back of my throat, I'll loose it if I try to talk.

"Curtis,"

I pretend not to hear him. However, he's persistent.

"Curtis,"

"Yeah, Brownie?" my words come out wobbly.

"Serg says I'm gonna be ok. I'm gonna be ok, man."

"Yeah, sure, you'll be fine, Brownie. No sweat." my lie comes out unstable, shaking, my voice threatening to collapse into a whimper. "No sweat."

A helicopter takes Brownie away, his dark-skinned body strapped into a stretched. I don't what possesses me but as we watch the helicopter lift Brownie up into the sky, I approach Meserve, and let my lips deliver a question. Perhaps I just wanted reassurance of his promise to Brownie. Or I wanted the truth.

"Is he really gonna be ok, Serg?"

His eyes slowly crawl onto my face, making me nervous. He makes me wait for my answer. However his lips say something different than what his eyes do.

"Just mind your own fuckin' business, Private."

We get sent to base camp Wolf, where we settle into our tent and put down our things. Sighing with relief I roll onto my cot and lay on my back, chanting praises for the sake of being off duty.

"So, what are we gonna do, guys?" I ask, peering up at the roof of the tent.

"Well, I for one," Clarke starts, "am going to get rip roarin' drink then piss on one of those VC's huts." he finishes, laughing at himself. "What about you, Curtis?"

Being uneasy, I feel around in my bag for the pack of cigarettes I forced myself to save for when we got to the new base. "Nah, man, I'm too tired for that."

"C'mon, man, are we off duty or what?"

I remain silent.

Hatcher pulls back a drape to reveal Meserve, sitting on a wooden crate, looking into a mirror leaning against a suite case as he shaves himself, shaving cream smothered all over his young looking face. The serg has got to be only twenty-two, twenty-three at the most. However, still aging older than myself.

"Hey, guys it's the serg!" Hatcher exclaims, gesturing to the rest of us as we greet Meserve.

"You guys wanna shower?" one of my buddy's from another squadron, Max Simmons, belches as he stalks into our tent.

"Fuckin' A," Hatcher agrees.

"How was the trip?" I ask him, knowing he had just returned from an outing with his squadron. Finally, I get to light a cigarette and take the first sweet drag as Simmons answers me.

"Terrible, man. The sergeant had a high level of difficulty getting his head out of his ass and got just about all of us killed. Thought he was gonna leave us for dead, man. You know what that feels like?"

"Actually, I do," I mutter, thinking about a few nights back.

Everyone starts to get up, grabbing their towels and soap for the shower. Before we leave, I approach Meserve again real quick.

"Hey, Serg, you heard any news about Brownie?" I ask, my voice holding a low register.

His razor halts half way down his cheek, surrounded with the cream, and he stares blankly at the mirror in front of him. "Brownie's dead." His words are so heavy, they fall to the ground like bricks.

I knew it. I knew Meserve had lied to Brownie. I knew it.

I come to a momentary loss of words, but I soon summon them.

"Oh. Well we're all going to take a shower. What are you going to do?" His next sentence is one that will do many things. It will break rules. It will leave a mother childless. It will turn four men into criminals and murderers. It will cause bloodshed. And most of all, it will take my life and yank it inside out.

Meserve looks down at the razor then back to his reflection. This time, he's looking at me in the mirror.

"I'm going into the village to get laid."


	4. Chapter 3

**Warning: some mild/strong language**

Knowing the near future is something risky. And to be able to take it and mould into something new and enhanced in the palm of your hand, like that of a clump of clay before it truly unfolds, that too can be risky. Yet when it's made aware to you, too late is when the mind begins to ponder and question itself with brutal answers returning their questions. I suppose it would be safe it say that it all started with a joke. But, my God, that joke grew into something horrendous.

XxXxXxXx

Ray Charles' voice blares from the front entrance gates into the village that are guarded by two lieutenants, their dogs, and of course; their rifles. We approach the gates, Meserve in front, as we flash our cards to get in.

"Sorry, men. Pass-through's have been cancelled," one of the lieutenants tell us, the beams from the tall flood lights, reflecting off his dark-skinned face in the night air.

"Say what?" I pipe up, giggling from behind Meserve. At this point, I see this all as a big prank - a joke. And I wouldn't be telling God's honest truth if I were to say I'm not even a little excited - or a little drunk. I'm not one for the drink but since I've gotten to 'Nam, alcohol seems to be one of the main things getting me through. You feel no pain and your mind pays no attention to worries or anxiety. However, when the drink wears off, that's you're real problem. Reality begins to animate itself again and your troubles and cares all become important again. You gain back all your responsibilities and needs, feeling far from home; the older brother that checks the mail everyday for your letter and the younger brother who writes stories in his notebook about your return.

"Till when?" Meserve asks the lieutenant, his voice calm, yet his face noticeably threatening to loose it's control.

"Until forever."

"Shit, man," I cat-call, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

Without warning, Meserve chuckles and lunges for the gap between the lieutenant and the fence next to us, but gets shoved back into Hatcher and Clarke, starting a commotion.

"You better watch it, Sergeant."

"Motherfucker!" Meserve slams his foot into the crate next to him, empty beer bottles inside, rattling against each other.

"Take it easy, man,"

"Yeah that _was_ easy! That was _fuckin'_ easy!"

"What are we gonna do, Serg?" Hatcher asks.

"Y'know what this shit's about, man?" Meserve goes off, slinging his arm around Hatcher's shoulder, his heavy and noticeable Brooklyn accent sounding off in the lieutenant's face. "The fuckin' VC is in town tonight. Charlie's gotta get laid too. He works hard shovin' his foot up our asses then he gets some. Aint that fuckin' fair?"

XxXxXxXx

"The VC is gettin' laid…and here _we_ are, just….It aint fair, man."

I'm sprawled out on the floor between Hatcher and Clarke's cot, drowning myself into my beer, letting myself become overtaken by it's assumed powers. In all honesty, I don't have a clue as to how I got on the floor or really why I'm there. All that matters is my beer. I stare deep into the brownish auburn coloured liquid, dancing around in the bottom of my can. Somehow, my mind makes out a face in the dancing waves and the beer obtains a voice. It begins to speak.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd;

Thiers not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred."

I know those words. I've heard them, felt them roll off my tongue and into the air, I've passed those words through the tips of my fingers onto paper. While I sit there, on the floor of the tent, baffled by my seemingly past encounter with the words my beer had delivered to me, Meserve strides in with a soldier by his side, who's face looks awfully familiar.

"Somebody send you boys a present," Meserve mutters, gesturing to the soldier. "This is Private Adderson. He's Brownie's replacement."

_Adderson!_ That name, that face it seems so familiar! As Meserve barks out orders for the following day, I squint through my eyes, and despite my blurred vision and spinning head, the revelation comes to me.

Adderson. _Randy_ Adderson, the soc that was there the night Johnny killed Bob. What are the odds that the bug-eyed sidekick soc would end up in the same squadron as me? But, jeez, _Randy Adderson_, all the way over here in the 'Nam, he must be even more fresh than I am.

I want to start thinking about what I'll say to him first but something Meserve says catches my attention, as he's holding his index finger to a specific point on the map.

"We're gonna be leaving a whole hour early because, right here, we're gonna detour two thousand meters to the south…to the village of Nghia Hanh. We're gonna get ourselves a girl…it'll break the boredom and keep up morale. Understood?"

Seemingly dazed by what he's just said, I can only nod my understanding.

"Bring your good luck charms, gentlemen," Meserve adds, his face noticeably displaying how pleased he is with his plan.

"Like this?" Clarke asks, chuckling sadistically as he slowly pulls out a dagger. Meserve's face brightens up and a conceited grin crawls across his lips.

"Does it feel lucky?"

Clarke returns the grin with one of his own. "Sure _looks_ lucky."

**VOCABULARY**

**Charlie - American code word for the VC (Viet Cong)**

**DISCLAIMER**

**Credit and copyright - excerpt from Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Tennyson ****ã 1870 **


	5. Chapter 4

"Did he really say that?"

Simmons and I stand in an empty tool shed just off from the tent, watching the rain pour down. I tell him about Meserve's plan, going to the village, taking the girl. At first it all seemed like fun and games, but the gleam in his eyes when he spoke the words, it showed his devotion.

"He wouldn't do it, would he?" I ponder out loud, leaving Simmons' question unanswered.

"Kidnap a girl? C'mon, Curtis, that's crazy. Just picture it; you and your squad out in the jungle with some _chick_. Think about how crazy that is." I let Simmons' argument sink in, somehow he seems right. All his points make sense, we're soldiers; not criminals.

Chuckling, I agree with him. "Yeah, I guess that does sound pretty crazy."

"Yeah, exactly. I mean, what did the other guys think?"

I try to remember each soldier's reaction, the rain filling up the silence.

"They were all joking. Thought it was real funny."

"See? It was all a joke. You have nothing to worry about, Curtis. It'll never happen."

When I think back on it now, I really wish it had all been a joke.

XxXxXxXxX

"Curtis, you stand guard here."

"Jeez, Serg, are we really doin' this?"

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Private?"

"I was just-"

"What the hell are you sayin'? Look, just keep quiet and stand guard, would you?"

Its dark, the scent of the early morning air lingers and mixes with the scent of corruption. _Just a joke, nothing but a joke_. I repeat those words in my head like a mantra, but as the events unfold, it gets harder and harder to believe myself. I stand guard in front of the hut, just as Meserve had ordered. I glance over at Hatcher lighting a cigarette.

"Hatcher!" I call to him in a whisper. His head lifts to acknowledge me. "Who's in there?" I gesture to the hut behind me.

"Meserve and Clarke," he whispers back.

_Meserve and Clarke_. It doesn't take long before curiosity gets the best of me, I just have to know. I have to see for myself what is real.

Against my orders, I turn around to see Meserve and Hatcher flashing their lights in the sleeping villagers faces. I feel my stomach start to squeeze when Clarke finally makes a move and grasps one of them with one hand, holding his other hand tightly around their mouth.

"This is the one, Serg. She's the pretty one," I heard Clarke say, his voice holding a tone of wickedness.

"Well then, take the pretty one!"

I watch in horror, my body nearly paralyzed. I cant advert my eyes. I cant look away, all I can see is a helpless young woman, struggling in Clarke's grasp, her cries muffled by his hand clamped over her mouth.

Meserve catches me gawking and flashes me one of his menacing grins, lines indenting on the side of his face.

I swivel around on my heels, my back facing towards the hut and I feel my throat starting to close up, I sputter and choke out my next words.

"Oh my God." I cant believe what I'm seeing, what I'm hearing. Beads of sweat dribble down my face, threatening to fall to the ground and curl up in it's sand.

Meserve is screaming now, profanities and words of hatred thrown at the villagers in the hut. Other villagers are beginning to stir on account of the commotion, their huts becoming illuminated by their lamps. One by one, they venture out of their homes to inspect the disturbance.

I don't want them to see me. I don't want them to think I want any part in this, because I don't. What I want most is to be home right now. No Vietnamese village, no Meserve, no war, no food rations or limited water supply, no dog tags around my neck, and most of all; no _girl. _


End file.
